


Winds Whistling Through the Night

by firefly734



Series: Dunkirk Verse [1]
Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Alex gets the "less of an asshole than he could have been" award, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Gibson (Dunkirk) Lives, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26245156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefly734/pseuds/firefly734
Summary: In the end, Tommy spent five days on the beach at Dunkirk.He would have died five times over if it wasn't for the strange silent soldier with the sad eyes.
Relationships: Gibson/Tommy (Dunkirk)
Series: Dunkirk Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1917082
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	1. The First Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've posted since I was probably 15 years old, so thanks for stopping by to read it!  
> I saw Dunkirk for the first time recently and expected to hate it but the Aneurin Barnard as Gibson hit me like a sack of bricks and now here I am.  
> Also, the title is from a song Aneurin Barnard wrote and posted a clip of to his insagram (allegedly there's a sound cloud version of it, but I haven't heard it yet)

That morning had been surreal, walking the abandoned streets of Dunkirk, poking around for unsmoked cigarette butts in an ashtray, German leaflets fluttering around them like snow. He hadn't even seen the Germans, had no idea they were there until the first bullet had whistled past him, sinking itself into the chest of man not five feet away. Tommy was running before the man's body had hit the ground.

He'd never been so glad to see a Frenchman, as he was when he came across the rear guard manning the perimeter and was waved on to the beach. Tommy had made it to the city with the half dozen men left from his regiment, but now stumbling onto the beach, he was alone. The transition from the cacophony and chaos of the streets of the city, winding and riddled with enemy combatants and open firefights, to the relative silence of the beach was jarring. He scanned the horizon and saw troops lined up one after the other waiting for boats to take them home.

At this point he had no squadron to rejoin, no comrades to find among the rolling dunes. His stomach rolled, and he cut right, hoping to find some privacy to relieve himself. 

As he emerged back over the dunes, he caught sight of a man kneeling in the sand, burying a body, one of few on the beach lucky enough to receive such treatment. From this distance all he could see was a foot sticking out of the sand, conspicuously bare. He knelt across from the man, and began piling sand on the body as well, working in silence. Tommy glanced from the bare foot to the strangers still untied laces, before casting his gaze to the canteen at the other man's hip, and wordlessly the soldier offered it to him, and he drank. 

His new companion had dark eyes, set into dark sockets, he doubted the other man had seen true sleep in days. His dogtags glinted against his chest, peeking out of the collar of his shirt which was nearly unbuttoned and hanging loose over his hips, yet to be tucked in- _Gibson, S_ was the name inscribed on them, falling back out of sight before he could catch the whole first name.

He jerked his head, indicating the mess of soldiers queued up closer to the beach and pushed himself upright and began making his way back to the beach, leaving the man behind.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

With no men to rejoin, Tommy somewhat aimlessly made his way up the beach. From what he could see it was mostly English soldiers from the BEF awaiting transport out, though he could see scattered groups of French soldiers also waiting on the beach. He tried to fall in line with the nearest queue of soldiers, only to be told off.

The waters here were unfavorable for evacuation by sea, the grade of the sea floor too gradual for large boats to get anywhere near the shore, and the pier built over the mole was already packed shoulder to shoulder with soldiers awaiting rescue.

Tommy made his way forward down the beach and towards the mole, having no superior officers left to seek out for instruction. As he approached he saw was a group of soldiers blocking the mouth of the mole, controlling the stream of traffic allowed on. Presently a group of French soldiers was arguing loudly, French flowing too quickly for him to catch any of it, but the English reply was slow and enunciated enough that he could catch it: Seulment Anglais, English only.

He managed to force his way forward enough that he could grab the attention of one of the soldiers. “I'm English!” 

The soldier looked at him where he was getting jostled in the crowd. “We're only evacuating the seriously injured now, you'll have to wait your turn.”

Tommy could tell he wasn't going to get through to the mole now, and glumly made his way back to the long lines of soldiers, hoping he could slip in somewhere undetected. The entire day passed like that for him. It seemed that the crowd wasn't moving at all, despite the ships that he could see coming and going from the mole. He encountered no one he recognized, though the list of people that reasonably contained would have been short. As far as he knew none of the men he'd been stationed with had even made it to the beach at all.

Eventually he could tell there was no getting off the beach this night, and being exposed like this made the back of his neck prickle. He cut back to the dunes, found somewhere relatively flat to curl up for the night, and fell into a fitful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse me for playing fast and loose with military terminology and history. I will say! There was a ceasefire for three days at Dunkirk, so that's why I have there being no planes on the first day.  
> 


	2. The Second Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting into the meat of it!

At dawn he woke to the sound of shuffling near him, evidently some of the other soldiers who had also taken to the dunes for the night were beginning to rouse. He spent that morning much as he had the day before, idly loitering on the beach, awaiting instruction, managing to beg a swig of water off of some stranger on the sand.

The sun was high in the sky now and he could feel it hot on the back of his neck, red from hours standing out in the open with no cover. Around him soldiers were antsy, nothing to do but unwilling to sit or relax in case they needed to move quickly. Many of these men were more battle-weary than him, some had probably been on the first ships sent out to the continent.

Tommy himself had only been stationed in France for two months before they'd been ordered to evacuate, he'd enlisted as soon as he'd turned 18 and been shipped out the following week. When he'd joined their chances had seemed bright, the BEF marching to meet the Germans in Belgium, pretty girls leaning out of windows to wave handkerchiefs at them as they passed. In reality it had only taken Belgium 18 days to surrender to the might of the German military machine, and ever since then it had been an endless slip backwards. Leading to now, with the remaining Belgian, French, and British forces pressed back all the way to the sea.

A low hum started up, just at the periphery of his awareness, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up, anxiety shot through him before he realized what was causing it. Jerking his eyes up to the sky he caught sight of three German planes, coming in low for a sweep of the beach. Some men who still had rifles shot rounds up to the sky, small guns doing little against the heavy craft. Still other men were torn, taking a few shuffling steps, instincts screaming at them to run though there was no cover to seek. 

Tommy too wavered before he threw himself to the ground, bringing his hands up and clamping them over his ears, pressing himself into the sand. He couldn't see anything but even with his ears covered the sound was deafening, he could feel it in his bones when the bombs struck, shaking the entire beach. One dropped close enough that it threw sand over him, nearly burying him.

Blood roared in Tommy's ears, his heart hammered in his throat. His awareness was limited only to what he was feeling, face pressed into the sand, arms over his head. A part of him was sure this was it, this would be what finally did him in, and it took him until long after the sound of the engines faded into the distance to uncurl his body, and face the scene in front of him.

Men around him were doing the same, pulling themselves out of the sand and back into their ranks, but just as many soldiers righted themselves, many did not. A new batch of bodies littered the beach at Dunkirk. 

A groan sounded near him, and he turned his gaze to see a stretcher abandoned on the sand, one of the stretcher bearers shot down near by, the other nowhere to be seen. He looked around him, and his gaze fell on Gibson, shocked to land on a familiar face barely 10 feet away still kneeling in the sand nearby, and watched as his gaze flicked to the wounded man and back out the sea, where the hospital ship was docked. 

Their gazes met, and faster than Tommy would have thought possible each had grabbed an end of the stretcher, Gibson still wearing the dead man's boots, and then they were trotting across the beach, moving as quickly as they could with the new weight distributed between them. His breaths came in short gasps, and his lungs burned, but he was able to push it down to nearly nothing as they pulled closer and closer to the boat. 

Shouldering their way through the crowd in a way they would not have been allowed to manage had they not been carrying such precious cargo, the ship became nearer and nearer. The universe around him became small. Sweat dripped down from his scalp into his eyes, and he blinked hard to clear them, unable to free a hand. The men around them jostled them and the stretcher, but were unable to prevent them from moving forward, carrying the injured man as they were.

They were almost there, Tommy began to feel hope bubbling up in his chest before coming to an abrupt halt, nearly teetering over the edge of the splintered gangway, Gibson jolting the stretcher into the back of him, for a moment unable to see why they have halted. The men around them urge them on, only a wooden plank draped across the gap to stop them from plummeting into the sea beneath. 

Tommy steeled his nerves, glancing back at Gibson and getting a terse nod, barely a movement at all. He took a deep breath and set out across the temporary bridge, taking three leaping steps to minimize his time over the water. In no time at all he and Gibson had safely crossed, the stretcher between them, and he was able to release the breath he'd been holding, air rushing out of his lungs and leaving him feeling weak and lightheaded. 

As if through deep water he heard the assembled men cheer, hooting that their injured comrade had made it across. The men on this side parted for them easily, a few brushing out to clap their shoulders as they passed. 

They made it onto the ship, and Tommy could hear his pulse in his ears, feel it in his throat as they were directed where to place the stretcher. He tried to sink into himself, make himself unobtrusive, relax his soldiers and lean casually against one of the pallets. 

To no avail evidently, as the commanding officer hooked a thumb at him and jerked it back to the dock. 

Fuck.

His mind raced trying to think of an excuse to stay on the ship and was coming up blank when he was pulled back to earth by a sharp psst at the edge of his awareness. Looking for the source of the sound he saw his new companion clinging to a support beam under the pier, jerking his head to indicate a perch on the beam next to him. 

He glanced to either side, and saw the officer who'd ordered him off the ship otherwise distracted directing the wounded. He vaulted the edge of the ship and slithered down to where Gibson was waiting for him. 

At this point they were in it together, Tommy supposed. He wondered at his silent companion, but he'd come across plenty of men with their voices stolen by the war, at least this man still seemed to be in the present, eyes sharp as he eyed the lower levels of the ship. 

They waited like that for what felt like only minutes before they heard the drone of approaching planes return overhead. From where they were holed up there was no visual of the sky, no cover to seek or nook to duck into, he caught the other man's eyes grimly, moments before the first bomb dropped into the water, rattling the dock, sending a plume of water into the air.

Time stretched. Men around them were screaming, voices filling the air- but it sounded distant to Tommy's ears. All they could do was clutch at the beams supporting them. A huge noise sounded next to them, as one of the bombs found its mark and struck the hospital ship. 

Men poured into the water like rats off of the sinking ship, the wounded were left behind to drown. The vessel listed to the side as someone shouted to cut it loose. Tommy and Gibson scrambled over the beams, making their way down to the level of the water, trying to get clear of the ship where it was sinking, rocking into the pier. The water below them was full of men gasping in life jackets and kicking without, clinging to the support beams running up to the gangway. 

The ship tilted dangerously into the beams as men tried to pull themselves out of the way, the pull of water being sucked into the hull creating a deadly current to suck them back in. At their feet a man clawed at the beams as the space between the ship and the solid wooden structure rapidly disappeared. 

Tommy and Gibson reached into the water, each grabbing at the man's shoulders, and hauled him up onto the structure, out of the way of the sinking ship. The three men gasped for breath, chests heaving as the cacophony around them mellowed, the bombers having completed their sweep. 

Below them in the water the men who'd made it off the ship were paddling to a nearby destroyer, getting hauled up out of the water. Wordlessly he and Gibson pulled themselves down of the beam, and dunked under the water, before joining the men swarming to the destroyer. The man they pulled out of the water following close behind. 

They got hauled onto the second ship, this time successfully managing to blend into the crowd as they were ushered below deck. Guilt roiled in Tommy's stomach, unwilling to believe that all it had taken to get off the beach was a dunk in the channel, mind still running through the faces he'd seen get sucked under the ship, unsure if they'd made it out or not. At the last moment Gibson peeled off from the crowd, ducking out of view and working his way to a vantage point above deck. 

Tommy and the man they'd saved were jostled down the stairs along with the mass of soldiers, the contrast from above deck was remarkable. Only minutes ago bombs had been dropping on them, cries and screams in the air, blood in the water. The mood aboard the destroyer was jolly. Nurses in crisp uniforms with bright grins were doling out tea and slices of bread with jam. They grabbed both, neither having eaten since before their arrival on the beach.

As the shouldered through the crowd, the other man addressed Tommy, “What happened to your friend?” 

They'd never spoken, but Tommy was sure when he answered, “He wanted to be above deck, in case we go down.” Tommy tilted his chin, directing the other man's attention across the hall, indicating a door leading back above deck. Without further discussion they worked their way over to it, following Gibson's example and camping near the exit.  
“What's your name anyway mate?” His companion asked while chewing, his large bite of bread making the cheek on the left side of his face bulge a bit like a squirrel.

“Tommy, you?” The other man swallowing properly this time before telling him his name was Alex.

What happened next was impossibly fast. One second Tommy was swallowing down his last bite of bread, mug already at his mouth to chase it with a swallow of tea, and he was jolted to the side, slamming into the wall of the ship, mug flying out of his hand. A yell went through the crowd, but almost as soon as it was released it was swallowed by the sound of water flooding into the cabin. 

Within seconds they were swimming, Tommy managed to grab hold of the railing and pull himself to the door, but it was bolted shut. He banged at it frantically, the soldiers next to him joining him in pressing their weight against the door, pressing their palms against the unyielding mental of the door. The water had nearly filled the cabin already, Tommy took in one last gasp of air before it rose over his head. 

This was it. The door wouldn't budge, he could hear nothing except for his pulse and the sound of water in his ears. He didn't want to die. His lungs burned in his chest as he struggled to keep air in. Suddenly the door before him gave way, and water rushed in past him, the current pushing him away from the door as he struggled to hang on. In seconds it had equalized and he was able to pull himself forward, clawing his way to the surface as he was spat out of the ship.

His head broke the surface of the water and he gasped for air, spluttering through the water that poured down his face. Hearing rushed back to him as the water flowed out of his ears. Around him other men were bobbing to the surface, but barely a fraction of the crowd that had been shoved into the destroyer where they'd been packed like sardines. 

He bobbed like that trying to get his bearings. The destroyer had already traveled a distance from the beach, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to swim it. Near him he saw that Alex had made it out of the craft as well and was bobbing in the surf. A lifeboat made its way towards them, pulling men out of the water. They kicked through the waves, bobbing in their life jackets, trying to move to meet the oncoming boat. As they drew near Tommy could see Gibson on the boat, and recognition sparked in the other man's face as he reached out to grasp Tommy's hand, moving to pull him into the boat before being shouldered to the side; forced to release his grasp.

“There's no more room.” A man spoke down to them in the water, “You'll have to wait for the next lifeboat that comes along, you've got jackets, you'll be fine.” Distantly he heard Alex raise his voice, arguing with the man, telling him what he thought about his advice. His own perception was shrinking down to the pit of anxious exhaustion in his chest, the prospect of having to just bob in the surf awaiting death or rescue sapping the fight right out of his bones.

Gibson's strange, sad eyes stared down into his, and he glanced to either side before tossing something down into the water in front of Tommy. Something bright sparked in Tommy's chest when he saw it was a rope, trailing down into the water in front of him and Alex. The boat was beginning to pull away from them now, the officer aboard evidently deciding he'd wasted enough time listening to Alex's pleas.

Alex sputtered next to him, nothing but fight, and Tommy reached out to grab his arm where he was treading water, and jerked his head to indicate the rope trailing after the boat, pulling Alex with him as he lunged forward to grab it before it was drawn out of their reach. Once they had their grips secure on the rope Tommy allowed himself to mostly go limp, being dragged behind the row boat and back to the beaches of Dunkirk. All the while, he could feel Gibson's eyes on him.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The boat made it almost to the shore, before the waves became too rough and capsized the small vessel, and the men were forced to swim the rest of the way, fighting their way through the surf.

Tommy pulled himself out of the surf, at low tide the rise of the water was gradual, and he spent what felt like ages trudging through water up to his knees, drenched soldiers in drenched dungarees doing the same to either side of him. 

He sat on the sand staring at the waves as they inched closer and closer, the tide coming in by fractional inches. He watched as the ocean ate the sand, claiming some small piece of land dried since the last tide, and receding again, picking up foam and pulling it back out to sea. 

Alex and Gibson next to him were stone-faced and silent, exhaustion obvious in their faces and the slope of their shoulders. The sky in front of them was just beginning to lighten: it was time to face their third day on the beach.


	3. The Third Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their hands touch!!

It seemed impossible that Tommy could experience boredom amongst all the anguish at Dunkirk, but it was the truth. There were flashes of terror, but much like the rest of the war it was interspersed with terrible waiting. 

Recruitment posters never exalted that part of the war, it was all glorious fighting, sacrifice and martyrdom, or coming home to adoring civilians. In reality the vast majority of his time was spent waiting- unable to relax or truly rest because there was no actual safety to be had, but equally unable to do anything that would make a difference. The only option was to await the German's attack, or to await rescue, whichever would come first.

His new companions sat near him as they stared out at the tide. Corpses littered the beach, and could be seen bobbing in the surf, but the sight didn't churn his stomach any longer. Long queues of soldiers still lined the beach, those who still had squadrons to fall in with trying to hold on to a semblance of order. Still more soldiers though were like their small group; cut off from any familiar faces they may have once known, hoping to find their way on to some vessel and off of the beach. 

Next to him, Gibson sat close enough that their knees were just brushing, there was plenty of room on the beach, but the small point of contact they shared was the only warmth Tommy had felt in days, since before he'd made it to the beach even. Slightly farther off sat Alex- one leg bent at the knee and the other stretched straight in front of him. They'd done only brief introductions, all he knew of Alex was his name and his regiment. He knew even less about Gibson, the only reason he had a name for the face at all was because he'd caught a glimpse of his dog tags.

Tommy didn't know how long they'd been waiting there, the destroyer was thoroughly sunk but a bit of its overturned hull still bobbed above the waves. His hair was salt-crusted to his forehead, but his clothes were still damp, he was beginning to doubt if he would ever be dry again.

A huffed out sigh sounded next to him, and he and Gibson both turned to look at Alex, who was making a show of stretching his arms over his head. “I can't stand this, I'm going to see if anyone knows anything.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Alex pushed himself off of the sand, Gibson merely inclined his head in acknowledgment, and Alex began ambling his way down the beach.

They sat in silence for several minutes, watching as Alex became smaller and smaller, briefly talking to those he passed here and there.

“I always hated the waiting the most.” He didn't look at his companion as he spoke, still gazing across the beach watching the other soldiers, “We were holed up for a week before we made it to Dunkirk, just waiting for orders, once we made it to the town the rest of my squadron was picked off within an hour, I was the only one who made it behind the perimeter,” He flicked idly at the sand with his left hand. “and now here I am, waiting again.”

He looked over and saw Gibson gazing at him intently, shadowed green eyes assessing him.

“You sure don't talk much do you?” 

Gibson's eyes widened just a bit, Tommy saw him glance around them, and Gibson opened his mouth to speak, but he hesitated and nothing came out. He closed his mouth, and shook his head minutely. Tommy let a brief huff of air out of his nose, but didn't press the issue.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Eventually, Alex made his way back to them, little moved from where they'd been when he'd left. 

“Jerries are pushing the perimeter again, it's gonna be a couple hours before the tide's gonna be up enough for anything to start happening.” He slung a canteen to Tommy in a lazy lob.

He took a swig and swished it around his mouth before swallowing, making his mouth feel blessedly less like ocean muck, and passed it over to Gibson who did the same. 

The sun was dipping low over the beach already, sky blood red in front of them and turning to navy behind them. There hadn't been planes overhead for hours, and the wounded at this point had either been evacuated on a first priority ship, drowned, or bled out. Every so often there were bursts of gunfire heard in the distance, but in between it was eerily silent, just the sound of waves lapping across the beach, uncanny for the distinct absence of the cries of gulls and other seabirds driven off by the fighting. Only a few scattered crows picked at corpses at the edges of the beach, but it was largely too populated for the carrion eaters to have their way.

All along the beach soldiers were breaking off into groups for the night, as it became clear that the long lines of soldiers were not going to be evacuated any time soon. The trio followed their example, and trudged up the beach into the dunes, seeking out some cover to lie down and sleep. Alex stopped moving first, evidently having decided this was a fine spot to hole up, and shrugged out of his wet jacket, balling it up as he dropped to his bum on the sand, but made no move to remove his boots. 

“Alright, with any luck I'll see you in the morning mates.” And with that Alex rolled onto his side, using his jacket as a rough approximation of a pillow, and obviously setting up to ignore them until morning came. 

Tommy and Gibson were left to settle in after him, removing their jackets as well, keeping their boots. As he settled down on the sand, it was warm under him, still holding on to the last remnants of heat from the day, but he knew it would soon be cold. He could hear Gibson going through the same movements next to him, but tried to avoid catching his eye. There was a tension he could feel between them, something in the strange intensity of his gaze and the heat of his knee as it had pressed into his thigh on the beach earlier, and it scared him. 

He lay on the beach and could hear the breath of both men, exhaustion filled him down to his bones, and as much as he wanted the embrace of sleep to come and quiet the swirling anxiety of his mind, it would not. Alex's breath slowed and quieted next to him, but he could tell Gibson next to him was still awake.

Tommy didn't know why, but there was a magnetic pull tugging deep in his gut. He could feel the man next to him like a tangible presence, though they were not touching. He wondered if Gibson was listening to his breath with the same intensity Tommy was feeling, if he too felt a tug in his gut drawing towards Tommy himself. 

He could hear the rustle of Gibson shifting next to him and held his breath. The other man shifted closer to him on the beach, and Tommy started when his fingers brushed his own in the sand, before settling back in, freezing himself so as not to startle the new touch that was seeking him out. Tommy didn't look at Gibson, but he curled his fingers, just a bit- interlacing them with the other man's.

They lay there on that beach in silence, tucked up behind the dunes with Alex sleeping beside them and Tommy was sure he'd never be able to sleep like this. The anxiety in his gut had lessened just a hair, but his body felt electric, every hair standing on end, fingertips sparking where they twined with Gibson's. 

And sure as anything, that was the last thought he had before he too drifted off to sleep, lulled by the sounds of his friends breathing and alive next to him.


	4. The Fourth Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gibson wants Tommy's peach ;)

Tommy woke just before dawn, when the sun was just beginning to lighten the eastern sky. He and Gibson had separated in the night, though they were still close on the sand, both curled on their sides facing each other. He twisted to look behind him and saw Alex still sleeping behind him. Satisfied that nothing around him had changed drastically in the night, he let himself roll back to the way he'd been lying when he woke up, only this time when he cast his eyes over Gibson's face, green eyes were staring back at him. 

They lay there in the sand, neither reaching to touch the other, and ridiculously Tommy felt a blush crawling up over his cheeks, and swore he could see a spark of delight in Gibson's eyes, just the barest twitch of a smile tugging at the other man's mouth. Tommy felt hot under the collar, unaccustomed to the kind of attention he was now receiving. In the end he caved under the pressure and broke the moment, pushing himself into a sitting position and stretching his arms above his head, pressing them up into the air and letting out a groan- privately feeling he must be over-acting, desperately trying to project a comfortable air.

Alex jolted awake to his left, startled by the movement next to him before seeing it was only Tommy and burying his face back into his balled-up jacket letting out a muffled groan before he too pushed himself up to sitting. Tommy watched as Alex blinked his eyes hard, sky a fair bit brighter already than it had been when he'd woken up. 

In the end it was a commotion on the beach that drew them out of their hidey-hole. A lorry loaded with rations had made it behind the line of the barricade. A cheer went through the soldiers, always ready to celebrate even in dire times. Soldiers lined up to fill canteens at the water tanks loaded into the bed of it, laughing and passing the filled containers out to the men behind them, empties being cycled to the front. Rations were passed out through the hungry crowd. 

Tommy, Gibson and Alex shouldered their way through the crowd for their own rations, and received a canteen passed out of the mob of nameless, faceless troops. Alex split away from them and shouldered his way back up to the lorry looking to fill another canteen. It took a while for him to make his way back to them, pushing his way through men jubilantly chewing chunks of bread and slurping down canned peaches in thick syrup, pried open with utility knives. 

Tommy himself felt nearly giddy as he slurped down his canned fruit, the first thing he'd eaten since the bread on the destroyer. He spooned peaches into his mouth with the back of his knife, just enough to scoop them up over the lip of the can so he could suck them down, a line of juice dripping out the side of his mouth and down his chin. In a breath between bites he looked grinning at Gibson crowded up across from him, pushed close by the mass of soldiers around them, and could see the man's pupils dilate, and watched as his eyes trailed down to his lips. Tommy swallowed, bringing the back of his hand up to wipe at his mouth self-consciously. Gibson's eyes snapped back up to meet Tommy's, going wide, showing the white all the way around the green irises, nostrils flaring. 

It was then that Alex slapped his hand down onto Tommy's shoulder, causing both Tommy and Gibson to startle like frightened wildlife, both pointedly looking anywhere other than at each other. If Alex noticed their strange behavior he graciously didn't comment on it. “You gonna share those peaches or are you gonna hog 'em all?” Alex asked, already getting a hand around the can and pulling them out of Tommy's grasp. 

He let the peaches go without a struggle and caught a glimpse of Gibson out of the corner of his eye where the other man was still studiously examining the bread in his hands, tips of his ears pink. Gibson's eyes flicked just briefly over to his, looking away again as soon as they met and he wordlessly broke off a chunk of the bread and extended it to Tommy, still not really looking at him.

It was then that another plane dropped out of the sky, immediately honing in on the crowd that had been drawn to the lorry. One of the soldiers who'd been distributing rations thumped on the body of the vehicle, screaming to the driver to move. Packed as densely as the men were it was absolute chaos. Those on the fringes of the crowd either threw themselves down where they were or opted for making a break across the sand. 

Tommy felt Gibson grip his wrist, pulling him to turn before dropping it, and they turned and followed the men racing for the relative cover of the dunes, Alex chasing just behind them. The tortured run must have been less than a minute all told, but as exposed as they were on the flatness of the beach it felt much longer. Once they broke back into the dunes they dropped themselves into the shadow of a large dune, pressing themselves flat to the ground so they couldn't be seen by planes approaching over the beach.

That day ended up being the worst yet in terms of flyovers, it seemed every thirty minutes exactly another plane would fly low over the beach, guns blazing, throwing sand into the air and bodies crashing to the ground, and then disappear back into the clouds. It seemed there was no hope now of them getting off the beach that day.

It looked like the driver had managed to bail, but the lorry now lay abandoned on the beach, tires and windows shot out; one of the large tanks on the back was essentially obliterated and the other had been pierced, a dark ring was still visible on the sand beneath where the water had trickled out. 

The tide had begun to come in by now, ships that had been run ashore beginning to bob in the water. But the German bombers were keeping the troops pinned on the beach and in the dunes, with only small groups of soldiers being able to make it to the small ships to be ferried away.

They ended up being pinned well into the evening, when eventually the bombers evidently gave up for the night, perhaps because of the heavy cloud cover that came in with the cool nighttime air. By this point the tide was out again. Tommy climbed the dune to get a view of the beach and could see some men struggling fruitlessly with a rowboat, trying to get it past the breaking waves but relentlessly being pushed back.

By the look on his companions' faces he could tell the also knew they weren't getting off the beach anytime soon.

“I'm right fucking tired of this beach by now.” Alex proclaimed, flopping dramatically onto his back from where he'd been sitting on the sand. Gibson snorted from where he was seated in the sand nearby. “Oh! He does have something to say!” Alex pushed himself up again to peer over at Gibson whose smile quickly faded. “What's your problem anyway, mate?” 

“Leave him alone, Alex he's probably shell-shocked.” Tommy was uncomfortable with the keen eye with which Alex was regarding Gibson, despite having his own questions about the dark-haired man.

“Nah, I've seen men who are shell-shocked. You can see it in their eyes.” Alex was still looking at Gibson. “And our friend here looks sharp as a tack, but he doesn't say a word.”

“You don't know what happened to him before we got here.” Tommy felt a swell of protectiveness in his chest. “There's lots of good reasons for him not to talk.” 

“And a few bad ones too, right?” Tommy didn't have much to say but understood the obvious implication- there was a lot of information a voice, or an accent, could give away. 

“Hey come on man lay off, he saved your arse at least two times yesterday.”

Alex grimaced a bit at that, but really there wasn't much to say. “Yeah, yeah.” He looked away from them with forced disinterest. “I'm just wondering out loud.”

Silence stretched between them, tense and uncomfortable for a beat or two. “Alright, I guess there's no use waiting up any longer. I'm gonna try to sleep before bombs start dropping again, you two do the same.” Alex rolled over on his side away from them, jacket balled under his head to sleep.

Gibson and Tommy sat for a while still before they made any move to follow Alex's example and take his advice. Well past when his silence turned from sulking into genuine sleep, breaths evening out and the tension in his shoulders lessening. 

“I think he means to be an alright guy.” Tommy said, chasing some desire to mediate, but also maybe looking for a reaction from Gibson, a justification. “He's terrified, I think.” He looked away down the line of the dunes. “I know I am.” He kept his voice low, needing to say this but also not wanting to wake Alex. “It's making him paranoid.”

The line of Gibson's mouth was tight, but he gave a short nod, still not speaking.

Eventually they also gave into the desire for sleep, laying down in the same sand they'd been hiding in for hours. At least compared to last night their jackets were dry, even if they were musty and stiff with salt. Tommy wasn't sure that his feet would ever be dry again. He was unwilling to remove his boots just like Alex, but he did untie them, pulling the tongue of his boots out a bit and tucking the laces into the now open ankle, hoping that at least some of the moisture would air out in the night.

Gibson opted to use his jacket as a blanket, draping it over himself as he curled under it, and Tommy followed Alex's approach, sticking it under his head. They were only separated by maybe a foot of distance.

There was a chill in the night air, despite the humidity and wet heat of the day. Tommy was near enough to Gibson that he could reach out and touch him, but scared to try. He carefully stretched his arm down between them, meeting Gibson's green eyes and trying to not let his nervousness show on his face. He cracked under the intensity of his gaze, and drew his eyes away. Losing his nerve, he hastily went to draw his hand back to his side just as he felt a brush of knuckles against his, and he paused.

The contact drove his eyes back to Gibson, whose eyes sparkled despite the deep bags set under them. Gibson opened his mouth, again as if to speak, his Adam's apple bobbed, but nothing came out.

“It's alright you know,” Tommy ran his thumb over the bridge of Gibson's knuckles, the touch electric. “you can talk to me, if you want.”

The silence stretched between them, Tommy couldn't take his eyes away from Gibson's throat as he swallowed nervously. Gibson again opened his mouth to speak, eyes darting to where Alex lay not far down the dunes, releasing only a small breathy noise. He coughed quietly and, in a voice little more than a whisper, said "Je suis francais.”

Tommy stiffened at hearing the accent-less French leaving Gibson's mouth, and his thumb paused in its movement over the other man's hand. It was pivotal, suddenly being given a new context for the man's overt silence over the past days. Tommy could hear the blood rushing in his ears, even in wartime, on this blighted beach there could never be any good hands dealt to him. 

He reached out, not really thinking, and hooked a finger into the chain hanging around the other man's neck, pulling his dog tags so they could both see them. “Gibson?” He asked, even though he suspected he knew the answer. 

Gibson, or the man who was not Gibson, gave a small shake of his head, not breaking eye contact with Tommy. His eyes were bright and sad, but he could see fear in them too, in the crease between his brow, the tension in his mouth. 

The fear was what made up his mind for him.

“Shhhhh.” Tommy said, dropping his hand back down to touch the other man's again. “It's okay, understand? Okay.” And as he said it he knew the words to be true. Everyone in his squadron was dead, he wasn't sure any of them were ever going to get off this beach, nationalism wasn't going to do him any good when now the two most important men were the ones lying near him as the planes flew overhead. “Do you speak English? Any?” 

The other man looked skittish, but began to relax as Tommy threaded their fingers together more securely. “A little,” He said, in very thickly accented English. “in school... I studied.” He huffed a short laugh. “My accent is bad.”

Tommy let out a breathy laugh, and wormed his way even closer on the sand, bringing their knees to brush and faces in close. “It's good to hear your voice.” The other man gave him and unsure smile, whether because he understood or because he was responding to Tommy's laughter was unclear. His lips parted again, but instead of speaking he caught Tommy's gaze, before his eyes flicked down to his mouth, then back up again, cheeks heating. “Okay...?” Tommy asked, but he was already leaning in. his own mouth slightly parted, and let his eyes fall closed, capturing his companion's lips with his own.

The kiss wasn't apocalyptic, as Tommy had perhaps distantly feared, nor was it rapturous- but it was wonderful. Halting and clumsy in its way, both of their lips salt-chapped and sore, but it filled him with a warmth that radiated all through his body from ever point where he touched the other man, heat pooling in his belly and making his head spin with it.

He craved more of this delicious contact, the only real warmth he'd felt in days, and the man who was not Gibson must have felt the same, they moved together, legs pressing together flush then intertwining, Tommy managing to worm his arm under the other man's head so that when they separated it was resting on his shoulder. It was a it of an awkward shuffle to get them both tucked under (the actual) Gibson's jacket, but they managed.

Tommy tucked the other man more securely into his side, a brought his free hand up to sweep dark curls out of his face before he pressed his lips to his forehead. “What's your name?”

He felt warm breath on his neck, “Philippe, Philippe Guillet.” _Philippe_ , he rolled the name over in his mind, poking at it like he would a sore tooth: it suited him, he decided. 

“Philippe,” He repeated into Philippe's hair, “it's good to meet you.” He would've sworn he felt the mouth pressed against his throat twist into a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I lived in Nepal for a little over a year (I was supposed to be there 2 years) and when writing Philippe's dialogue I try to think about when I would speak Nepali and when I would speak English (Usually if I was flustered or frustrated) Also I speak like, highschool French, so sorry for mistakes.


	5. The Final Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! Thanks for making it this far!

When Tommy woke in the morning it was slowly, senses just coming to awareness, the sound of the ocean just beginning to register in his ears, the pale light of morning causing him to scrunch his eyes more firmly closed, burrowing into the warmth next to him. Realization hit him then, and he stiffened, before trying to make himself lax to slip out of Philippe's grip undetected. He managed to slip out of his grip and prop himself up, squinting into the dawn around him

As he cast his gaze to their left, he startled to catch Alex's eye, from where he was sitting, knees drawn to his chest, watching them with amusement.

Alex must have seen alarm flash across his face, because he lifted his hand and waved it in a lazy gesture. “Everyone's got a lot more to worry about than that, mate.”

“He's French.” Is what came out of Tommy's mouth, unbidden.

That got a reaction from Alex, eyes going wide and flicking to Philippe's prone form. “Bloody frog stole an English uniform! He-”

“He saved both of us already, probably more than once.” Alex let himself be silenced. “We owe him, and the French are with us anyway. We can help him, now that we know.”

Alex pursed his lips, considered the proposition for a moment, and gave a terse nod. The tension was disrupted by the sound of Philippe rousing next to them, likely because of their voices, if not because of the content of their conversation. He blinked awake and smiled as Tommy came into focus, but it faltered as he caught sight of Alex sitting behind him on the sand. 

“He knows.” Tommy said to him, unsure of how much Philippe could understand relative to what he spoke, he fumbled for a moment, trying to explain just what Alex knew.

“Je sais que tu es francais.” Alex said confidently, albeit with an accent. Philippe looked uncertain, and pushed himself to sitting with the other two men. In English he said, “And I know you and Tommy here snogged.” reaching out to shove at Tommy's knee as he turned red from his neck to the roots of his hair. 

Philippe now looked more confused than anything, until Alex began smacking his lips together in an exaggerated pantomime, trying to land one on Tommy's cheek as the other man grumbled and swatted at him, and it was Philippe's turn to turn red.

After a brief tussle Tommy shoved Alex off of him and managed to pull himself up out of the sand, brushing sand off himself as best as he could. “I need to piss.” And he trudged off somewhat sulkily to find some privacy behind one of the dunes. 

Left alone, the jovial attitude dissipated as Alex and the Frenchman sized each other up. Philippe pushed himself to standing and strode the few steps separating him and the English soldier, he gazed down at him for just a moment, before extending a hand to help him up. Alex accepted the gesture in silence and soon they were standing face to face in the dawn light. Philippe was the first to make a move, extending his hand between them. 

“Philippe Guillet.” He said, waiting for Alex's response. Alex reached out and gripped his hand in turn, giving it one firm pump. “Alex Harris.” 

And five days in to their stranding at Dunkirk, introductions were finally made.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Soldier's were getting increasingly desperate as the days stretched by. Tommy stared in morbid fascination as an officer stripped out of his jacket and walked into the sea in his boots. The little ships had started to arrive en mass yesterday, coming in as close as they dared to the mole and the shore, but now the tide was out again and the ships couldn't get close.

“Hey, come look at this.” Alex called out to him where he was standing. 

Tommy looked and saw Alex with a group of other men, all looking East down the beach, Philippe standing nearer to them but still separate from the group.  
“What do you think of that trawler over there?”

Tommy looked to see what he was talking about, and could see a trawler beached in the shallow water well up the beach. “That's gotta be past the perimeter, innit?” 

“Don't think the Krauts have made it out that far yet, if we can hop on now all we gotta do is wait for the tide to come back in.” Alex sounded optimistic, but that was still hours from now.

The other men apparently did not share Tommy's qualms though, several had already split away and were jogging out across the sand. Tommy looked at Philippe and the man's face was unsure, looking to Tommy and Alex to decide.

“I think we're running out of chances here.” Tommy hesitated a moment before nodding, and Alex set off across the beach, following the highlanders. It took only a beat for Tommy and Philippe to fall into step behind him. 

When they finally made it to the trawler it was abandoned, and there was no one in sight on the surrounding beach. Tommy hauled himself up after Philippe, using the rickety ladder hanging down from the side of the ship, and followed the taller boy into the hull of the ship. He heard but didn't see Philippe make his way down after him. 

The inside of the trawler was damp and dark, but still Tommy felt better having actual walls around him, a roof protecting him overhead. Alex had already plopped himself down against of the walls and was pushing fishing equipment out of the way with his feet to make more space on the floor. Tommy took a couple of steps towards him before he realized that Philippe wasn't following, and turned to look at him.

Philippe had made it below deck, but was frozen at the bottom of the ladder. His pale face was even white than normal and sweat shone on his brow. Tommy moved in closer to him, mindful of the other men around them and spoke in a low voice.

“Hey it's okay.” He waited patiently for Philippe's eyes to focus on him. “We're just waiting for the tide to come it, there's not even any water under us.” Philippe swallowed and nodded, and allowed himself to be ushered over to where Alex was seated, Tommy getting him situated before joining himself.

From that point they sat in silence on the trawler, and minutes stretched into hours before them. Twice they heard planes flying overhead, the concussive pound of bombs landing and the hiss of bullets being rained down on the beach. During these moments Tommy allowed himself to grip Philippe's hand, wedged into the shadow of the corner he figured it was safe enough, Alex pressed close on his other side. 

“Poke your head out, see if the water's coming in.” It was Alex speaking next to him. 

Crawling awkwardly out of where he wedged himself he crept up the ladder just high enough that he could sneak a peak over the edge of the boat, where the waves had just barely reached. He went back under with the news, and waited patiently as Alex cursed, settling himself back between his companions to continue waiting.

Footsteps sounded above them, creaking ominously through the metal above their heads, and every eye on the ship was focused onto the square of light where the ladder lead above deck. A tense minute passed, those with guns keeping them trained on the entrance, and as soon legs came into view a dozen hands reached out to grab them and pull the below. When it was merely the terrified captain of the vessel, a sigh of relief went through the hold. 

He'd just allowed some tension to leak out of his shoulders when the first bullet punctured the side of the ship, every man onboard jolting alert when it happened. A heated, hushed conversation followed, and Alex had to stop some idiot from climbing above deck and giving them all away. The soldiers made space, giving the puncture a wide berth as more bullets followed and it became clear that it was merely bored German troops using the side of the ship for target practice.

Tommy stared with a growing sense of dread as one hole turned to two turned to five turned to a dozen, it was becoming less and less likely the boat would ever leave the beach, but no one wanted to admit it.

When the first stream of water started to pour in it was a blessing and a curse. This was what they'd been waiting for, the water to get high enough to carry their small vessel away, but at the same time the ship was flooding, picking up more weight and becoming harder to lift. 

Men were already trying to plug the holes that were letting ever more water into the cabin, shoving ropes and wadded up cloth in as tight as they could to little avail. Shockingly, the boat was actually making progress through the water, but it wasn't enough, they were going to sink before they made it even a kilometer from the beach.  
“We're too heavy.” It was the captain who spoke, “We need to lose weight.”

It didn't take long for the brothers-in-arms to turn on each other, no man wanting to expose themselves, lose their shot on the boat. Tommy tried again what he had tried several times in the last few days: to disappear. If he made no accusations, pointed no fingers then hopefully the others could squabble. Blessedly, it seemed to be working for once, and he kept his eyes trained on Alex as he argued, watched him get shoved back, feet getting tripped up on the tackle beneath him before he came back at the man, fury in his face.

“Hey!” A voice Tommy didn't recognize called for attention, distracting Alex from whatever hit he was gonna land on the other man. “What about him, he's been pretty fucking silent hasn't he?” Dread filled him, and he was sure that he'd failed again, before realizing that he was talking about Philippe. 

Tommy watched in horror as he got hauled up against the ladder by the collar of his shirt. 

“What's your problem, then?” The attention of ever man on the boat was focused on them. “Bet you're a fucking Kraut aren't you? Haven't heard you say a word yet.” 

Tommy moved to intervene but shockingly it was Alex who beat him to it. “He's fucking shell-shocked, he was in my squad.” This was when he finally got his shove in. “If you're so anxious for somebody to get off why don't you fucking go.”

The brewing fight was interrupted by another burst of bullets into the hull of the ship, even more water rushing in, it was already up to Tommy's thighs and rising quickly. The men on the ship tried valiantly to cover the leaking holes, put the bits of scrap they had to shove into them were no match for the force of the ocean pushing back at them, and already some were starting to bail from the ship.

“We've got to fucking go!” It was Alex.

He looked and saw Philippe still trying to stem the flow of the water, shoving his palms against the holes in the hull. Tommy grabbed his wrist and yanked him toward the ladder, but stopped when resistance tugged him back. Philippe was straining forward but couldn't make up and ground, the water was already rising around their waists.

“Mon pied.” Philippe gasped, hung up under the water. “C'est mon pied- my foot!” 

Tommy heaved a lungful of air and dunked under the water, feeling blindly through the swirling seawater to grab at Philippe's ankle and feel his way down. Sure as anything there was a net tangled around his boot holding him in place as the water rose. He tugged at it without making any progress and broke the surface again, water now at chest level. Alex was still lingering on the ladder, poised to bail, watching them with wide eyes.

“I need a knife!” Alex fumbled at his waist for his blade, and Tommy lunged up to take it from him before he dove back under the water. He had to fight against it more now, the salt water pushing him and making him buoyant. He linked his left arm around Philippe's leg as an anchor and began sawing at the rope keeping him stuck. It was tangled up in his laces and the hook eyelets on his boots were snagged, so Tommy fumbled with the laces one handed and managed to pull them undone.

Tommy pulled at Philippe's ankle, hoping the other man would understand what he wanted, and in turn reached down to stabilize the boot, still anchored on Philippe's other leg, giving him something to pull against. His lungs were burning when Philippe finally managed to yank his foot free, and he broke to the surface with a gasp, toes barely touching the floor anymore. 

“Good let's fucking go!” Alex, now that he could see they were no longer ensnared, hauled himself the rest of the way up the ladder and held an arm out for Tommy as the boat listed to the side, new water pouring in from above deck too now. Tommy managed to scramble up on the deck and in turn reached down to haul Philippe up behind him, Alex's head already bobbing in the surf next to the sunk boat.

Tommy jumped overboard and felt more than heard as Philippe followed him. He watched as dark curls broke the surface and the other man gasped for air before orienting himself in the water and launching himself at Tommy. He slammed into Tommy with a kiss that tasted of salt and panic. 

“Thank you, thank you.” He gasped through tears.

There wasn't time for this. It was just out of the frying pan into the fire. Tommy cast about in the water trying to see where the other men from the trawler had gone and could see they were swimming towards another large military vessel. They'd barely even begun to swim towards it when the bombers swooped overhead again. Tommy plunged himself under the surface of the water and clutched his ears hearing the distorted echo from the ship as bombs struck the hull. Eventually he couldn't hold his breath any longer and was forced to surface, oil from the vessel clinging to his face and hands. 

He could see the ship was going down, already listing ominously to starboard. The water was thick with oil, and the fumes filled his mouth and nose as he frantically kicked towards the small craft bobbing above the surf. He'd lost sight of Alex somewhere in the fray and prayed he made it out.

Somehow Philippe had managed to stay close to him, and they were within meters when he heard a bang above them, and looked up to see the German plane plummeting down into the water, and into the oil spill. He could see when the man on the ship wrote off the soldiers in water.

"Wait!!!" Tommy kicked through the water and caught the hand hanging down just as the engines began to push in earnest. He threw out a hand to Philippe and gripped around his arm just as the ship jolted to motion, dragging him under the surf, pulled taught between the arm that kept him anchored to the ship and where Philippe gripped him, being pulled behind.

Water rushed in their ears and he struggled to break above the surface but the pull of the boat was too great and all he could do was hang suspended below the waves. Through his mind was a litany of just _one more second, one more second_ running over and over again in his head until abruptly, the boat stopped.

He and Philippe were hauled unceremoniously onto the deck of the ship and they flopped on the deck, gasping like fish. They were allowed only a moment before they were ushered below deck. Tommy was relieved to see that Alex had made it onto the ship before them, and made his way over to him, squeezing into his personal space along with Philippe.

Sitting huddled below deck on the Moonstone felt like being on a different planet. They'd repurposed it for their rescue mission, stripping it down, but it was still plainly obvious that it was a family boat, starkly different from any of the military vessels they'd been on in the past week.

He felt like shit warmed over, but he could tell that he wasn't in the worst shape of the men on the ship. On his way below deck he'd passed a man huddled on deck with paranoid eyes casting about, clutching a blanket around his shoulders. There was a body laid down on the floor with a sheet draped over it, and the men packed in below deck did their best to ignore it. 

Alex had picked up a deep gash down his forearm somehow in his escape from the trawler to now, and had towel handed to him by the craft's captain wrapped tight around it, awkwardly propping his arm upright against his knee. They'd wedged themselves into a corner, all finding security in the other's presence. 

When they got off the ship they were herded like cattle towards the train cars waiting to take the wherever they were going. Tommy could feel their window closing, he knew that once they were on the train they'd soon be split up, maybe a few weeks of leave granted and then they'd be sent back to their respective units. In an impulsive move he grabbed Philippe's wrist, and just before they reached the first waiting train car pulled him into the shadows to duck up behind it.

In an instant Philippe's mouth was on his hot and demanding, and he got shoved hard into the dark side of the train. It was nothing like the tentative moments they'd shared on the beach, here safe again on Ally land. Tommy got his hands in Philippe's hair, gripping tight to his curls as he pressed his mouth hot and wanting against his neck. Philippe shoved his thigh between Tommy's legs and it was all he could do not to moan, bucking his hips helplessly.

Philippe tutted against his jaw, grazing his teeth over the taut chord of Tommy's neck before laving his tongue in their wake. He worked his way up to press his mouth against Tommy's again, before breaking for air, pressing his forehead against the other man's, breath mingling as their chests heaved.

Tommy opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He felt like their was an ocean inside of him, getting stuck at the back of his throat. How could he give name to what they'd become to each other over the last week? What words could cover the depth of their actions, the amount of times one had saved the other on the Dunkirk beaches? What words would be understood, with this great language barrier looming between them?

In the end it was Philippe who broke the silence. “On y va.” He nudged his nose against Tommy's, body still curled over his slighter form, clearly reluctant to leave. “To the train, search for Alex.”

Tommy nodded and they separated slowly, but he pushed his face up to steal another kiss just as Philippe had begun to pull away. They straightened their clothing sheepishly, and Tommy reached out a hand to smooth the other man's hair where he'd fisted his hands in it. He was sure he looked debauched but fuck it, he doubted any of the staggering soldiers would even look twice at them.

He cast his eyes over Philippe's face, trying to burn the sight of him there in the dim light into his mind. The other man drew his lips into a small smile, eyes bright but sad before hooking his head over his shoulder, waiting for Tommy to step back into the light in front of his before following.

In the end it didn't take that long for them to find Alex on the train, sitting by himself at a low table, and they slid into the empty bench across from them.

“Not very subtle, are you?” Tommy felt himself going red again despite his best efforts, and Philippe just looked infuriatingly smug, whether because of Alex's words or Tommy's reaction was anybody's guess.

The smile faded from Alex's face. “I wonder what they're saying about us, that man wouldn't even look me in the eye.”

They sat there, each with their own thoughts, as the train rolled out of the station. Whatever they faced in the morning though, Tommy was going to be facing it with these men at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want nice things for these boys ;_; 
> 
> The parts with Alex here were tough to write, now that he's in on Philippe's secret I didn't want him to totally be an asshole, but it the film I think it was really important how fear can make decent guys do horrible things. 
> 
> I'm already writing a sequel for this, which will be smutty!


End file.
